


Close Up!

by kibblesnbits



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Clay is the Body, Demon Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Demons, Dream is the Mask, In a sense, Possession, anyway., i speedran this and can't really think of tags at the moment, if you have tag suggestions u can comment them if u want !, oh fun reference to those myths about bodies being formed of clay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27614101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibblesnbits/pseuds/kibblesnbits
Summary: [“Oh, beast,” Not-Clay hummed, ignoring his question, “that’s a new one. Humans got tired of the old insults?” he gasped sarcastically. “You’re so creative.”Clay bristled at the patronizing tone. “Didn’t answer my question.”“Hm,” Not-Clay shrugged from the floor, still face-down in the stone, “well I don’t really want to, is the thing.”]Or, a scholar meets a mask, and it smells like a folk tale.
Relationships: Clay & Dream, I promise it'll make sense - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Close Up!

“Stars…” Clay said, rubbing dust out of his eyes as he shakily stood to his feet. Just a few seconds ago, he was assisting the siege, and now… he blinked, trying to get his bearings. 

He groaned at the darkness, taking a moment to struggle with pulling a torch out of his pack. Striking it against the wall, he shook his head and tried to adjust to the light.

The walls around him were dark, splintered wood begging to fall at the slightest touch on the roof of the tunnel and equally dangerous stone that looked to have been chipped away bit by bit. He spared a glance upwards, frowning when he saw no exit. 

Deciding against calling for help (it wouldn’t come in the middle of a siege, Clay should know that firsthand), he started walking down the dark tunnel. Broken lanterns creaked in a nonexistent wind as he stumbled along, his missteps illuminated in the flickering torchlight. 

He nearly got whiplash when he heard the sounds of squelching footsteps, low groans startling him out of his adventuring mood. He stuck the torch between two broken bricks, brandishing his iron sword and stalking down the hallway. 

“Oh zombies…” Clay mumbled to himself, a little habit he picked up from a friend, “where are you.”

As if it heard his question, a zombie pounced out of a broken tunnel. With a quick slash of his sword, however, it was lying on the ground, body slowly becoming dust as Clay grabbed some of the flesh and shoved it in his pack. After dealing with a few more, he turned back and wrenched the torch out of its place.

As he ventured further down the tunnel, it became less like the aftermath of an explosion and more like… well, like an old stronghold he had seen back in his first weeks of training. 

Tapestries depicting long-forgotten wars were hung on dark oak. They, too, like the lanterns, swayed in the unknown wind, flapping aimlessly. 

Like a toddler, Clay was instantly fascinated by the fabric. He examined it with a gloved hand, running it down the embroidery in wonder. 

“Maybe they’ll take this at the libraries,” he said, making a mental note to return here later. 

Clay continued walking, and slowly, the tapestries disappeared. They were, instead, replaced by skulls with spiralling ram horns that hung over unlit and unbroken lanterns. Come to think of it… he looked around the hallway, and noticed with increasing worry that everything was intact. 

The wood lining the ceiling, the stone walls, even the tapestries (that should have been destroyed decades ago by nature itself) were in mint condition. Alarms blared in his head, but he surged on. Whether it be stupidity or determination (or a mixture of both) he steeled his resolve and continued down the hallway. 

A few seconds after the skulls replaced the lovely tapestries, the stone brick floor became black carpet, lined with gold and silver on the edges in a swirling design. Or rug, Clay thought to himself, nudging the piece with his boot. 

There were no stains in the rug, despite Clay’s mind screaming that there had to be something from mobs, or at least dust from being stuck in a cave for years. His resolve shifted, now wanting to figure out what the fuck was going on, and so, he pressed onwards. 

(Softly, he wondered what else could have been stuck in this cave)

The air slowly (but surely) grew cold, despite it being the middle of the summer above the caves. He tried to remember his lessons on caves, from before he went off to fight, but came up short. Oh well, the cold was probably natural. 

Probably. 

The skull lanterns came to a stop at the end of this massive tunnel. They were unlit, but their presence was enough to put Clay on edge immediately. He looked downwards, coming face-to-face (or face-to-wood) with a dark oak chest. On the edges was a black metal, Ancient words burned into it like a pencil to paper. There was no lock on the chest, only a latch with a dot on either side. Somehow, Clay got the feeling it was mocking him. 

He wrenched open the latch, flipping the lid as it fell backwards onto the stone. “Sapnap’ll get a kick out of it if I get anything.”

Clay reached into the old chest despite years of training telling him not to. Inside was a wooden white mask with a childish smile drawn on the front, and as he picked it up and turned it over to examine it further, there were runes burned into the wood. Peculiar... 

He gently pressed it against his face, marvelling in the way he could see right through the white dots on the mask for just a second before--

His body was on fire. Every inch every corner crevice fire fire FIRE--

"Stars!" Clay felt himself be physically pushed out of his body, trying to latch onto the last threads of his form before he was staring at his own translucent hands while his body looked at his own. He looked up as a strange ring of white light flashed across his body, and the same light passed over his.. current position. 

He-- no, the thing possessing him-- wiggled his arms, flapping them like bird wings. He heard himself-- that was a deeper voice, more gravely-- laugh, patting the ground with his foot.

"It's been so long!" that same voice said as it spun in his body unsteadily. A loud wheeze-- not unlike Clay's-- sounded out, and Clay stared incredulously. 

"What the fuck,” Clay was shaking-- or not, there was no way to tell right now. What he did know, was that his body was standing right in front of him and he wasn’t in it. His voice sounded out in an echoey, ethereal sound, ringing in the air. 

“You!” his body-- this was going to get confusing-- rounded on him, stumbling over his feet. The mask smiled at him. “Thank you! That chest gave me so many back pains.”

“I- what- you-” Clay sputtered, caught off guard. He was interrupted, however, by his body (he was going to call it Not-Clay for now) continuing.

“Now, if you could skedaddle along, I have some business to attend to,” Not-Clay made a ‘shoo’ motion with his hands, but as soon as he tried to take a single step down the hallway, he tumbled to the ground. Not-Clay landed face-first in stone, the mask hopefully preventing his anything from being broken. 

“Hold on a second--” Clay waved his ghostly arms, stepping in front of Not-Clay and bending down, he crossed his ghostly arms. “Elaborate? I’m not going ‘skedaddle’, beast, until you give me my body back.”

“Oh, beast,” Not-Clay hummed, ignoring his question, “that’s a new one. Humans got tired of the old insults?” he gasped sarcastically. “You’re so creative.”

Clay bristled at the patronizing tone. “Didn’t answer my question.”

“Hm,” Not-Clay shrugged from the floor, still face-down in the stone, “well I don’t really want to, is the thing.”

“That’s not-- you can’t do that!” 

“Seems I can.”

“That’s my body!”

Not-Clay struggled to his feet like a newborn calf, gesturing at his body with a barely concealed smirk. “That’s up for debate.”

Clay threw his arms in the air, frustrated. “What even are you!?”

Not-Clay paused, seeming to think on one of Clay’s questions for once. “Telling you would ruin my fun, but…” 

He cut himself off, smiling mischievously underneath his mask. Not-Clay shook his leg, and began to stumble down the dark oak hallway. Clay gawked, rushing to follow behind the bodysnatcher. 

He yelped as he somehow managed to trip over his own translucent feet, arms shooting out to catch himself before he realized he was now… floating. 

“Huh,” Clay said, feeling his body lurch as he picked up his legs and returned to following behind Not-Clay. 

“Can I at least get a name of the bodysnatcher that decided to make my trip down here hell?” Clay said. 

“You can call me Dream,” Not-Clay-- Dream-- replied (surprisingly). He had Clay’s sword pulled out as he walked, examining the blade with an unseen eye. “And it’s not hell. Far from it, really, I’m a delight to be with.”

Without another word, he headed down the hallway, his stumbling less and less as he made his way down. Well, less like a newborn calf and more like a slightly-older calf. 

The hall was as creepy as Clay saw when heading down, but he noted with some worry that the rug had begun to gather dust, and the tapestries were fraying at the edges ever-so-slightly. 

“So…” Clay broke the small silence, floating closer to Dream, “what, exactly, do you want?”

“What is it with humans and questions?” Dream shot back, “that’s all I ever get from you, question, question, question.”

“I don’t know, what is it with you and--” Clay pursed his lips. “-- stealing bodies.”

“Good save, human,” Dream snorted. Right afterwards, however, he tripped over the black rug, barely managing to catch himself with hands that are slowly growing steadier. He snarled. “This sucks! It’s been so long since I had legs.”

“You said something like that earlier,” Clay said, holding in a small giggle as he watched Dream hobble to his feet, “and you didn’t answer my question.”

“If it’ll get you to stop yapping, fine,” Dream huffed and Clay got the idea he was rolling his eyes, “this--” he pointed to the wood mask, “-- is my body. Technically. Since you put it on, I get this body. It’s really simple, honestly.”

“Wait--” Clay’s brain slowed to a stop. Dream couldn't do that, could he? There had to be some kind of law about it or something of the sort, “-- you--you can’t just keep it.”

“I can as long as it’s still on my face!” Dream laughed, knocking on the mask with his knuckles and hopping over a half-disintegrated zombie body. 

“That’s not fair!” Clay squawked, “I- I need that!” 

“Well, I want it,” Dream said, shrugging, “and since I’ve got the reins, it’s mine.”

“How dare you--”

Cutting Clay off, Dream held up a hand. He went quiet, and soon, the low groans and grumbles of zombies filled the area. A lot of them. 

“I forgot about those,” Dream said, “how strong is this body.”

“Why do you need to know that--” Clay was cut off as Dream sprung upwards, latching onto a broken wooden beam. As soon as his hands hit the wood, zombies began to pour through a cobblestone tunnel, thrashing and groaning angrily. 

"Why are you a soldier," Dream huffed as he tried to hold onto the beam. Broken wood dug into his hands angrily, and zombies practically gnawed at his ankles.

"Not important!" Clay screamed, floating helplessly as he watched his body try to get them to safety. "Just go, you blockhead!"

"I'm working on it!" Dream tried to swing himself upwards onto another ledge, barely balancing on another wood beam as the zombies began to-- what. 

“Has it really been that long!?” Dream said, groaning as the wood started to break ever-so-slightly, “since when did zombies climb!?”

“Again, not important!” Clay floated upwards, “The hole I fell down-- up here!”

“Trying my best, human!” Dream said. He flung himself to another ledge- then another, and another. 

Clay cheered as Dream’s hands latched onto the surface’s ledge, fingernails digging into the soil and grass. He scrambled out, flopping backwards onto the ground with a sharp huff. 

“Having a body’s not so fun now, huh?” Clay said. “Can I have it back, now?”

“Maybe…” Dream breathed heavily, “we can come to some sort of agreement, human.”

“Call me Clay,” settling down on the dew-damp grass, Clay sighed. 

“At least I can still see sunsets.”

“Sunrise, dipshit, it’s morning.”

“Shut up, you blockhead, I’m having a moment.”

**Author's Note:**

> i fucking sped through this after debate. did it in like an hour im tired its nearly midnight but holy shit i loved this so much. 
> 
> title is from There's Something Happening from Jack Stauber's Micropop! pog. 
> 
> :]


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